I was thinking about an aspect of my relationship with Noah and his difficulty determining my priorities (or my difficulty perceiving his priority order).

I feel all the time like I am drowning Noah in unreasonable demands. I want him to be an attentive parent in a way that is not part of his lived experience in the world. People didn’t pay attention to how kids were doing when he was young. They hit kids who got too loud and demanding. Noah is required to entertain and engage with his kids even when he doesn’t really want to. Just like I am required to. We decided we wanted this kind of family together but I have been the one to keep reading the development books and micromanage “Ah. They are changing developmental stages. So we have to adapt by…”

I seriously don’t know another man, woman, or enby who would put up with the kind of pushing I do about Noah’s interactions with his children.

I downplay my role in Noah’s financial success story like whoa. But the truth is that he wasn’t real motivated to go work his ass off and more than triple his salary without my dreams and desires providing the fuel. He wants to fund paying the house off early. He wanted to fund all the magnificent travel we’ve been able to do with and without him.

It is not a reasonable demand to ask him to come up with $20,000 so I can take my children on a 5.5 month trip. But I asked and he delivered.

He did that for me. He did that out of love and adoration. He did it because he wants to find out what kind of children I will be able to raise if I have carte blanche.

And the cooking. Let’s not ignore that Noah has meticulously learned my dietary needs and preferences and he spends so much time and energy trying to figure out how to help me feel ok.

And then I go and call having sex with him being handed a shit sandwich. It’s not the overall experience that’s bad. It’s the pain my cunt is in sometimes that is the problem. That’s the bit I object to. Not Noah getting off. Not being close to Noah and being intimate. Not touching him or him wanting or any of that bit.

The part that is a shit sandwich is me cleaning up the blood from my torn pussy. It sucks, yo. And come makes it god damn buuuuuuuuuuuurn on top of itching and hurting just from being torn.

Noah is upset about how much he felt like I was lying last year. It’s been complicated dealing with how much it feels like he has lied to me about the relative importance of PIV in our marriage too.

I think neither of us really know. I don’t know if it is lying or overwhelming ignorance and staunch unwillingness to engage with that ignorance.

IF IT AIN’T BROKE. DON’T FIX IT.

But something is broke and it’s eating at our marriage. And it’s all twisted up.

Part of the problem is that Noah does so much… it couldn’t possibly be reasonable for me to need anything else.